


On Scars and Slavery

by Lindira



Series: Ma'nehn & Amatus [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindira/pseuds/Lindira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Lavellan have their first fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Scars and Slavery

Dorian and Aeric lay together in what had essentially become their quarters. There had been no official invitation, no more jokes about "mutual domesticity". After Dorian's initial resistance, he merely began to stay the night more and more often, until it was somehow natural that he stay each night. Dorian still called the room Aeric's when he referred to it aloud, but he found that he had begun to think of it as theirs.

Their legs remained tangled after their lovemaking, Aeric's head resting on Dorian's chest, their skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat in the firelight. Dorian gazed down at his lover's face, his fingers trailing languidly along the olive green markings he found there. "I like your tattoos," he murmured. "Especially this bit here." He touched a fingertip to the line on Aeric's lip.

"I know," Aeric said, kissing the fingertip.

"Do you?"

Aeric smiled. "That's usually where you start kissing me."

Dorian chuckled. "It's so conveniently marked." He paused, a thought coming to mind. "It must have hurt when you got it. It goes down your neck as well. And your eyes! I can't imagine getting tattoos in such sensitive areas. Did it?"

"'Did it' what?"

"Hurt? When you got them?"

Aeric chuckled. "It did."

"Did you curse?" Dorian asked, tracing the leaf-like lines. "I'd have cursed if someone came at my eyes with needles."

"When you receive  _vallaslin_ , you are not allowed to make a sound," the elf explained, closing his eyes as Dorian's fingers found their way to the green on his eyelids. "The Keeper will stop the ritual if you do."

"What, not a peep?"

"Even sharp intakes of breath might be construed as too much sound, depending on your Keeper." Aeric opened his eyes again as Dorian moved on to his temple, following the crisscrossing lines.

"That sounds a bit harsh," Dorian said, fascinated.

Aeric gave a small shrug. "Tradition is like that."

"You must have been terrific at it. You barely make a sound as it is." Dorian grinned.

The elf only gave an amused grunt in reply.

Dorian stopped at the small scar on Aeric's right eyebrow, then touched the other small one on his upper lip. "You have quite a few scars as well," he began, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I do."

"How did you get them, I wonder?" When Aeric didn't answer, Dorian sighed. "Do I have to ask after each of them, or are you going to play along?"

Shifting to prop himself up on one elbow, Aeric pointed at the one that lined the left side of his chin. "Bear." The one on his lip. "My sister."

Dorian let out a laugh. "Your sister?"

"Paikea and I were sparring," Aeric explained, his lips not quite smiling. "I underestimated her, and she overestimated me. She's very good with her daggers."

"Apparently." Dorian let his fingers fall on the long one on the right side of Aeric's face. This was the one he was truly curious about. While it did not mar the elf's handsome features, the scar tissue was thick. It must have been a nasty wound when Aeric received it. From what little Dorian knew of Dalish magic, the elves were excellent healers. "And this one?" he whispered.

Aeric frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Why so curious about my scars?"

"They tell a story," Dorian replied. "Your story. And I would like to know more about you." He stroked the scar gently, as he had done many times before. It went nearly all the way down Aeric's cheek. "You must have been young when you got it. Your tattoos go over it. And you get those at, what, eighteen?"

"Thereabouts, yes," Aeric answered and sighed, settling back on the bed and returning his head to Dorian's chest. "I received that scar when I was eleven."

"As a child? What happened?"

There was a hesitation before Aeric answered. "Humans attacked me and my sister. She was only seven. I tried to defend her against three grown men. This scar was the result of my efforts. The one on my eyebrow as well."

Dorian bent his head to kiss Aeric on the forehead. "That's terrible," he said in a soft voice. "How did you get away?"

Aeric closed his eyes. He was still, his muscles tense. "One of the men wasn't careful with his crossbow. I wrestled it from him and shot him with it. Our father killed the other two and found us moments later."

Aeric's first kill. It had to have been. Not knowing what to say, Dorian let his arms drape around his lover's shoulders and gave a light squeeze. "I'm sorry."

They lay together in silence for a time, the fire flickering down to embers and the room turning cold. After a long while, Dorian spoke up again. "Does it bother you, that I'm human?"

"Of course not." Aeric opened his eyes and looked up at him. "Humans are like anyone. Some are good, some not. You're definitely the good sort."

Dorian gave a small smile. "I'm glad you think so."

"Do you care that I'm an elf?"

"Not at all." Dorian paused, then chuckled. "Though if my mother knew I was involved with you, she would certainly need her vapors."

Dorian had hoped to draw a smile out of Aeric, but he settled for the amused look that crossed the elf's face. "It's a good thing she's still in Tevinter, then," Aeric said.

"A very good thing," Dorian agreed. He gave a shiver and pulled the covers over them. "It's getting late. Shall we retire?"

Aeric nodded and turned over so Dorian could curl up behind him. The elf let out a long breath, his muscles finally relaxing, much to Dorian's relief. He was sorry to have brought up such bad memories.

"Thank you,  _amatus_ ," Dorian whispered. "For telling me."

"Of course," Aeric replied. "Sleep well,  _ma'nehn_."

ooo

Some weeks later, the two lovers sat in the library, Dorian in his chair and Aeric sitting on the rug, leaning against the mage's left leg. Josephine had found Dorian a copy of  _The Liberalum_  from the Orlesian Royal Library, and he had been researching Corypheus' lineage during most of his spare time. Aeric, on the other hand, was reading  _Black City, Black Divine: A Study of the Tevinter Imperium_. Dorian bristled at the selection. It had a heavy Southern Chantry bias.

They sat in relative silence, reading together as they often did, interrupted only by the squawking of Leliana's blasted crows. This time, however, Aeric made huffing noises every so often, obviously affronted by something that he was reading.

After the tenth such noise, Dorian set down his book heavily. "Why don't you start yelling at the book if you disagree with it so?" he said irritably. "It would be just as distracting."

"Do they really do this to slaves in Tevinter?" Aeric blurted out, his face hard, as if staring down a dragon and not a dusty old book. "Using them as 'components' in magical rituals?"

Dorian sighed, marking his page before closing his book. "I suppose. Though, it's like anything to do with blood magic. Everyone denies doing it, and the ones who protest too loudly are usually most guilty of it."

"Why doesn't anyone do anything?" Aeric turned around, setting down his own book. "If everyone knows what's actually going on and it's all a façade, why doesn't someone do something to help these people?"

"Like what?" Dorian asked, frowning. "Free the slaves? What a ridiculous idea." The words left his mouth before he even thought about what he was saying, and he regretted them almost instantly.

"Ridiculous?" the elf snapped. "What's so ridiculous about giving people their freedom?"

"Nothing in theory," Dorian replied patiently. "But in practice, Tevinter's entire economy would crumble. We had an Archon once who tried to abolish slavery. He was assassinated shortly thereafter, and few at the time mourned him. My country relies on slave labor for everything."

Aeric grunted. "Perhaps it  _should_  crumble, then, if it was built on the backs of people who have no choice and receive no benefit for their servitude."

"Oh, they receive plenty of benefits," Dorian argued. "Most of the slaves in Tevinter are treated very well, and live full and productive lives. Their masters provide for everything, which is more than I can say for the impoverished you find here in the South. Ask any slave, and they'll tell you they're quite content."

Aeric laughed, a bitter sound lacking any mirth. "Of course they'll say that! They have no choice but to say that! Some of them probably believe it too, seeing as how they've known nothing else."

"You know nothing of the Imperium except what you've read in writings that are little better than Chantry propaganda." A distant part of Dorian's mind noticed his voice was rising, but could do little to stop it. He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not an ideal life, surely. But it's a far better one than living in squalor and worrying about their next meal."

"But can Tevinter's slaves pursue their own interests?" Aeric's voice was rising as well. "Do they receive an education? Can they read books and play music for their own enjoyment? Can they marry whom they like? Have sex with whom they like? Have a family, raise children as they like?" The stare Aeric directed at Dorian was hard, his deep blue eyes like steel. "You of all people should understand the value of being free, to be able to live your life on your own terms. A freedom even elves in alienages enjoy."

Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but found he had nothing to reply to that statement. He had never thought of it that way. Slaves might have been more comfortable in Tevinter - a roof over their heads, clean clothes to wear, food to eat - but he himself had enjoyed a more comfortable life in Tevinter too. And he had left.

"You cannot sit there and tell me honestly that you believe slavery is preferable to a free life, even in poverty."

Still at somewhat of a loss as to what to say, Dorian found himself getting angrier. "It  _is_  better," he insisted stubbornly, though he was no longer so sure. "And why do you care so much about what happens in Tevinter?"

Aeric got to his feet. "Most of those slaves are  _my_  people, Dorian!" he snapped. "Elves, just like me. Some of them _stolen_  from alienages and Dalish clans!Do you know how degrading it is to be bought and sold like cattle? Do you know how terrifying it is to be stolen from your home and family?"

"No, of course not," Dorian said with a huff. "But then, neither do you."

"Don't I?"

Dorian's blood ran cold. With a strange and sudden understanding, he looked up at Aeric's face, at the scar slashed down half of it. "You only said it was humans," he said in a small voice, all the fight having left him. "I assumed bandits."

"You assumed wrong." Aeric crossed his arms. His voice lowered, intense and bitter. "Tevinter slavers took me and my little sister from our clan in the middle of the night. Bound our hands, gagged our mouths so they wouldn't have to listen to us cry. Cut my face when I tried to keep them from my sister. Two of them went back to the clan the following night. Greedy, you see. They wanted more. The final man was left to watch us, but he wasn't careful. I took his crossbow and shot him. Our father was searching for us, and killed the other two when he came across them. He found us a short time later."

Dorian stood and held out a hand to touch him. "Aeric…"

Aeric took a step out of reach. "I am done with this conversation. I am  _done_  listening to you defend a system built on the downtrodden and despairing. I'm just…" He shook his head, backing away. "I'm done." He turned and left down the stairs.

It was a long time before Dorian stopped staring at the stairwell, hoping Aeric would come back.  _It's over_ , he thought, his heart hammering in his throat.  _It has to be. I've finally driven him away_.

He was suddenly aware of all the people in the echoing tower. Fiona, only a few yards away. The researchers on the other side of the library. Leliana up above and Solas down below. Did they all hear?

He paced his alcove for a few minutes, a knot in his stomach forming as he became more and more certain that the best thing in his life had now ended. Maker, he needed a drink. He considered going to the tavern, knowing that he would be unlikely to run into Aeric there, as the elf liked to be alone when he was upset. However, there was also the ever-present possibility of Iron Bull or Sera being there, and he wasn't quite prepared to deal with his shattered feelings  _and_ their well-meaning idiocy.

In the end, Dorian decided he would rather be alone as well. He grabbed a few books and climbed the stairs, avoiding eye contact with Leliana as he walked past her towards the door to the landing outside. When he reached his room, he sighed, looking in and lighting the candles with a flick of his wrist. A fine layer of dust had settled on all the furniture. He hadn't been in there for more than a change of clothes in months.

He grabbed a bottle of brandy from his cabinet and settled heavily on the bed. Foregoing a glass, he took a long swig from the bottle, shuddering at the burn down his throat. Not bothering to undress, he kicked off his boots and readjusted himself on the bed with the bottle in one hand and a book in the other.

Though Dorian tried to read  _Hard in Hightown_  again as he drank, he found he could not concentrate on the words, his mind wandering instead to Aeric. He imagined an eleven-year-old elf with dark brown hair and ultramarine eyes standing with a crossbow between a grown slaver and a little girl. To think that his own countrymen had almost enslaved Aeric and his sister… What would they have been had the slavers succeeded? Dorian shuddered at the disgust and horror that boiled in his stomach at the thought of it all.

He then tried to recall the slaves in his father's household, the ones who changed his sheets and brought his food and laundered his clothes. Shame bit at his insides, sharper than the burn of brandy. Try though he might, he could not recall a single one of their faces.  _I'm such a fool_ , Dorian thought. He'd known what happened with the Tevinter slaves, where they came from and how they lived. How had he turned a blind eye to it his entire life?

He tossed the book across the room. It smacked into the stone wall and thumped as it landed on the cabinet. He spent the rest of the evening staring out the window, lost in thought and drinking his brandy, feeling cold and wishing Aeric was there to warm him.

ooo

Dorian woke the next morning to a knock on the door, each rap sounding like the footsteps of an archdemon itself. He groaned, his head splitting with sharp pain and his stomach doing flips. He reached a hand out with his eyes still closed, looking for Aeric, and when he didn't find him, he opened his eyes in confusion. Realizing he was in his own quarters, the fight the night before came rushing back to his memory. He groaned and stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to move.

The knocking came again. "Go away!" Dorian shouted, but regretted it almost immediately. His head rattled from the sound.

More knocking.

He would apparently get no rest so long as this persistent visitor kept up this infernal racket. Dorian pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the door. He unlatched the lock and threw the door open. "What?" he snapped.

It was Aeric.

Dorian stared at him a moment, stunned. "Aeric… I…"

"May I come in?" Aeric asked. His arms were full of strange items: a teapot covered with a knitted cozy, a glass with some brownish green sludge inside, and a book tucked under his arm.

Dorian nodded, stepping aside. Aeric walked in and set the items down on the dresser. Dorian sank into the bed again, watching bemusedly as the elf bustled about. "What are you doing here?" Dorian asked.

Aeric turned, handing him the glass of sludge. "I figured I might find you in this state this morning," he said. "Drink this, and don't ask what's in it. The barkeep assures me it is best not to know."

Pinching his nose, Dorian took a swig and blanched. It tasted like moss and dirt. Considering the barkeep was a dwarf, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was actually what was in it. "I didn't mean that. After last night…"

"Right." Aeric sighed. "I… wanted to say I'm sorry."

Dorian blinked up at him. " _You're_  sorry?"

Aeric nodded. "Now, I'm not sorry for what I said. It's something I think you needed to hear, and I know I'm right." He said it plainly, the way he always did when he was certain of something. Not opinion. Fact. "But I am sorry for how I said it. I'm sorry we fought, and that I got so angry. You had no idea what happened to me and my sister, and it was unfair to take that out on you. I apologize."

Dorian tried to shake his head but only ended up making himself dizzy. He winced. "No, you don't have to apologize," he said. "I thought a lot about what you said. There are… a great many things I learned growing up that I have to unlearn. And a great many things I never thought about that perhaps I should." He sighed. "I want to learn. I want to be better."

Aeric smiled, and Dorian's stomach gave a tumble that had nothing to do with his over-drinking. "It's a start," the elf said.

As Aeric went back to whatever it was he was doing - making tea? - Dorian took another gulp of the strange concoction in his glass and found that the stabbing pain of in his head had reduced to a dull ache. He smiled up at Aeric, his chest swelling with emotion at the elf's thoughtfulness. "Does this mean…" Dorian began slowly. "That is, are we still…?" He let the unasked question hang in the air.

"'Are we still', what, Dorian?" Aeric said without turning.

Dorian cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Together?"

Aeric chuckled, looking over his shoulder at him. "Did you think you'd be rid of me so easily?"

Dorian looked down at his hands.

"You did…" Aeric said, his face falling. He crossed the room in a few short strides and sat beside Dorian on the bed. Taking the glass from him and setting it on the table, Aeric took hold of his hands. "We had a fight, that's all."

"A bad one," Dorian pointed out.

"They happen in relationships," Aeric replied and squeezed his hands.

"I know. It's just… whenever my parents fought, it was only a reminder of how much they hated each other." Dorian sighed. "And I have no other examples from which to draw."

"You just said they hated each other, Dorian," Aeric said. "We're different. I love you. And in a relationship like ours, we'll work through the fights together. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Dorian gave a small smile.

"As I said, you won't be rid of me that easily. I expect you'll be stuck with me for some time,  _ma'nehn_."

"Good." Hearing the endearment soothed Dorian's remaining anxiety. "I rather like having you around."

Aeric leaned forward to kiss him, but it only lasted a moment before he pulled away, making a face. "You still taste like brandy," he said. "And whatever that concoction is in the glass."

"They do say misery likes company," Dorian said with a laugh.

Getting to his feet, Aeric went back to the dresser, pouring out some tea into a cup. "Finish the glass, then drink this tea," he instructed, his voice falling into something akin to his Commanding Inquisitor tone, only softer. "It has ginger and honey in it. It should help your stomach."

Dorian smiled up at him then downed the remnants of the sludge. "You are too good to me,  _amatus_. I don't deserve you," he said, taking the cup of tea.

He wasn't sure in the dim morning light, but he thought he saw Aeric's cheeks turn pink. The elf cleared his throat, smirking a little. "You know what the nice thing is about having a fight?"

"What's that?"

"We get to have make-up sex after." Aeric grinned. "If you're feeling better later, I can show you what that's like."

Dorian laughed, his spirit feeling infinitely lighter now that he knew Aeric hadn't actually given up on him. "I am fairly certain that I have never looked less appealing." Now that he thought about it, he began to feel a little self-conscious. His hair was disheveled, his mustache askew. And Aeric already said he tasted of overnight brandy and strange dwarven hangover goop. Very sexy.

The smile never left Aeric's face. "From where I'm standing, you're just as stunning as ever."

Dorian's face warmed. He hid his blushing behind his teacup as he took a sip. "Flattery will get you everywhere,  _amatus_."

"I mean it." Aeric sat back down beside him and kissed him again, this time not drawing away. Only when the kiss turned needy, and Dorian spilled warm tea on their hands, did they finally pull back.

"Very convincing evidence, Lord Inquisitor," Dorian said a tad breathlessly. His head still felt a painful, and he hadn't had nearly enough tea to ease his stomach, but he felt better nonetheless.

"Now," Aeric said, pouring Dorian some more tea. "You sit there, drink your tea, and relax. I brought something we can read together."

Dorian sipped, and leaned back against the headboard, propping himself up with pillows. "Nothing on Tevinter, I hope. As much as I love my homeland, I'm done thinking about it for at least a day or two."

Aeric shook his head. "I thought we could use something rather mindless." He pulled out the first issue of  _Swords and Shields_.

"Where did you get that filth?" Dorian asked, laughing. "That book is easily the most terrible thing I've ever read."

"Cassandra insisted I try it." Aeric climbed onto the bed beside Dorian. "'Passionate and intense', I believe she called it."

"It's melodramatic and predictable."

"Always a critic."

Dorian shrugged. "One must have standards."

"Of course,  _ma'nehn_." Aeric grinned up at Dorian. "Shall we begin?"

Dorian returned the grin with one of his own. "Go on, then."

Aeric rested his head on Dorian's shoulder and began to read aloud. Leaning back, Dorian closed his eyes, feeling a sense of peace with a warm cup in his hands and his lover's voice echoing against the walls of his little room.


End file.
